Reflection
by Vernon Danforth
Summary: I lie, lie straight to the mirror; which, now broken to match my face.


Before I begin, I would like to give credit to LazerTH for making this story more presentable. Thanks, Manny. 

* * *

><p>When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I can think of is my name. Not my real name though, and I'm not sure why.<p>

Sonic the hedgehog, thats what they called me... My real name is Maurice.

I always wake up to the beeping sound of my alarm. It starts off really quiet at first, then it gets loud as fuck. I am still not sure why my alarm clock does this. The alarm clock is fairly big, with bright blue numbers. The glow of this light keeps me awake at night.

When I wake up in the morning, I stare at the ceiling, for about fifteen minutes. I get up at around 5:00 A.M. and just lay there, staring at the ceiling. In my apartment bedroom, I have large blankets tacked, doubled over then tacked again covering the windows. The only light I can see in my room, is that extremely bright clock, those blue numbers emenating from the other side of the room. From my bed, where I am staring at the ceiling, I can see the giant blue circle reflecting of the white surface in the bottom right corner. I can fainly make out the other three dimly lit corners of the room, and I can hear the alarm getting louder and louder.

I just lay in bed and I think about my name. I think about what people knew me as then as opposed to who I am now. I think about what I used to be known for as opposed to what I am known for now. I think about what I will be remembered as, Sonic The Hedgehog the hero that saved all of mobius mutliple times, or will they remember the fat washed up alcoholic od man that they call Maurice?

I used to wake up remembering what I had dreamed about the previous night. That was a long time ago, back when I used to dream. Now sleep is like a blackout. I close my eyes at around eleven, and open them at six, always feeling like shit.

The buzzing begins to give me a headache, and all I do is close my eyes and grit my teeth. After fifteen minutes I can finally force my fat lazy ass out of bed, and I usually grab the bottle next to mo, on the night stand. That cheap bottle of shit vodka. I uncap the bottle as I walk over to the alarm clock, and press the circular botton on the top of it that finally stifles the infernal noise. I put the neck of the bottle to my lips, the built in pourer is usually ripped out by this time, and I chug the vodka, taking about six to eight large mouthfuls before I set the bottle down, lazily throw the cap on the bottle with out screwing it on, then stumble to the bathroom.

When I go in to the bathroom I usually take a piss, then walk to the sink and stare into my reflection. I stare into what I have become. I stare at my now black souless eyes, that used to be full of life and color. I look at the plump, old face that I can barely recognise and some times I cry. After that, I brush my teeth for about thirty seconds.

After brushing my teeth, I manage to completely cancel it out by having breakfast. Breakfast usually consists of a stale cereal with water, and vodka and ice. Some times its a screwdriver on those rare months when I can afford orange juice. I used to be rich and revered. I used to be srrounded by friends... I used to have a reason to want to be alive.

Now every last friend I had is gone. Now everything great I have done is forgotten. Now I am fat, lazy, and stupid. Now all the money I had was pissed away on alcoholic beverages and cigarettes. I pay for my death, and I am reduced to a job where I lift boxes for minimum wage. Now everyone who knows me hates me, and for good reason. I am a washed up alcoholic who cant stop hating my self, because every day I am coming to the realization more, and more of what a washed up useless piece of shit Iam. I take this out on other people now, making me an asshole to top everything off. The worst part is that I can see myself for what I really am, but for some reason refuse to change it.

How am I so fat at this point if I eat so little? Im so fucking hungry.

I have about twelve socks, and no washing machine, so I just sort of alternate them. Sometimes I wash them in the sink, but not very often. They have to get pretty fucking repulsive for that. I could always wash them in the apartments laundromat, but I never have the quarters when I think to wash them.

I put on the least disgusting pair I can locate on my floor and put on my old red shoes. The shoes are covered in holes, and browned with dirt. I put them on my feet and tie the gnarled laces as best I can, which is not very good these days. Snatch my brown jacket from it's position on the floor, and put it on. It get's cold this time of year.

Light a cigarette on the way over to the door. I walk out my door, leaving it unlocked as always. I start to walk down the hallway when- Fuck! My landlord. I turn to bolt off, by way of the back exit

but I'm fat now, and not as fast as I used to be. He hears, and spots me.

"Wheres the rent, Maurice?" God dammit, I hate this fucking cock sucker. Turn to see he is quickly advancing towards me.

"And how many times have I told you not to smoke in this building?"

He grabs me by the collar of my jacket, and slams me into the wall. He is a little bit taller than me, but not as fat. He snatches the cigarette from my mouth, and throws it to the groud, and he stomps on it.

"Come on, how am I supposed to pay you if I have to keep buying cigarettes?" He doesnt find this amusing, and he punches me in the stomach.

I double over, being unable to catch my breath, and his hand remains on my collar. I wheeze and gasp desparately for air, but it doesnt really do me any good. He pushes me back against the wall, and I feel his right fist, connect with my face. Once one my right cheek, and once more in the eye. This is when I try my feeble attempt at fighting back. I blindly grab at him, trying to prevent anymore hits being taken, but ultimately stop nothing. I kick him as hard as I can in the shins, until I feel a blunt force impact my right temple, and I'm suddenly on the ground.

I look up to see the landlords feet, taking a few steps back. I think I hear him say something to me, and then my vision begins to burr, and fade. I think I feel his foot connecting with my stomach a couple times before I go out completely. 

* * *

><p>I open my eyes for the second time today. Hmm. This is strange; I seem to be in a hallway.<p>

Sonic The Hedgehog.

I manage to lift myself up, and dust myself off. My cheek really hurts, and as soon as I start wondering why, it all comes back to me. I'm still Maurice. I look at the smothered cigarette on the ground and sigh. I pick it up and try to ignite the end again, but the cigarette is too crushed and bent. Fuck; that was my last one. I throw the broken cigarette and the lighter to the floor, and begin my journey down the hallway.

How long have I been there, I wonder? It could not have been too long. I take a right after I hit the end of the hallway, and descend the stairs. At the base of the stairway, you can take a right down the hall to the laundry room through the glass double doors. If you do not have any money, this room is totally useless. I take a left, and go out the door into Station Square.

The apartment in which I live is very shabby, partly because you can get away without paying rent for a while if you can handle a beating every now and again. I walk down the sidewalk at a relatively quick pace for me. I used to be the fastest critter on the planet, and now I'm fat and slow. As I walk across the pavement, I lose myself in my thoughts, and start thinking about when I used to matter.

I think about Amy first for some reason. It seems kind of odd that her image would just randomly come back to me on this day. I can almost see her right in front of me, smiling as always, her pink fur accentuating her red headband and her yellow skirt. I think about those slender thighs, and I think I'm actually half stock.

Fuck you, I'm drunk.

You can use that excuse for anything, I think to myself as I come to the crosswalk. It says not to walk, but as usual I don't really fucking care. I walk across the street, cars swerving past me, horns honking in unison. I reach the other end of the street, and start to wonder to myself what Amy has done with her life in the past fifteen years. She was one of the few people I knew from that era in my life whom survived. I have caused many people to die in my day, but I have also saved many lives. Should that not justify it?

The point is, me and Amy just stopped talking… well, I stopped talking to her. The truth is I isolated myself after I killed Eggman. That was about the same time Tails had died. Tails had been the only person who would help me out no matter what. He was the only friend I had, blindly following and thinking I know where the best path is. He trusted me, and I walked him right off of a fucking cliff.

I see an old man sitting on a bench next to a convenience store, and I lose my train of thought. He is staring expressionlessly ahead. The old man is very tired looking, his hand resting gently on the bottle in the brown paper sack next to him. His clothes are covered in dirt, and filled with holes. I look into his eyes, and I can see the same lifeless pupils I see in my own reflection, and I start to pity him. I'm not sure if I pity him or myself for the not-too-distant future I see before my eyes.

I shakily approach this man I have never met or seen before, and I speak the only words that come to mind. The words come in the form of a question.

"Sir, do you know what time it is?" I ask, my heart beating rapidly for some odd reason.

"Time?" The man asks. He pauses to take a sip from the bottle in the brown bag. His voice comes out raspy, and dry. Not quite how I imagined it would be. "Time is meaningless to me, sir. No matter what time of day, which day of the week, which week of the month, which month of the year, I'm still stuck in this shit life, as this shit person." It sounds like there is something terribly wrong with this man's throat.

I start to back away, when all of a sudden he stops staring off into the distance. He looks up directly into my eyes. I pause.

"It will run out soon, though... for all of us." These words haunt me as I start to back away once more.

He casts his gaze towards the cement beneath him now. I flip a bitch and run, not saying anything. I feel like I am running from myself, but in reality I am running from a pickled old man. I am very out of shape; this is true. I am also very drunk; this is also true. When I run I begin sweating profusely. When I exert myself too much, I get nauseous due to the fact I am in a constant drunken state. I have to stop, and lean on a trash can, which I puke in.

I lean on this trash can, trying to gather my bearings, and I try to think back fifteen years ago. Did I start drinking before I killed Eggman, or after? I puke in the trash can again and walk across the street to the bus stop, and sit down on the bench.

The cool breeze makes me shiver, as I cross my arms in hope to generate a little warmth. All of a sudden, a fat, pink hedgehog crosses my path. She sits on the bench next to me, and looks with boredom at her nails.

I ask her what the time is. She examines the cheap digital watch on her wrist.

"Six thirty," she says flatly.

Fuck. 

* * *

><p>I am sitting on a bench, and it is six thirty. I am supposed to be at work by six. You might be asking yourself, "What job could the great Sonic the Hedgehog be possibly reduced to?"<p>

…No?

That's right; you probably don't even remember me.

I lift boxes. That's what I do. I used to save the world, effortlessly killing off robots left and right, striving for a goal, a goal that if accomplished would actually matter. Now my job is to throw boxes onto a conveyer belt, whether it says fragile or not.

Okay, so I'm the rerun guy, okay? You probably don't understand so I will try my best to elaborate. We work in a large concrete building. Along the back wall runs a conveyer belt. The conveyer belt is like a big fucking C. The ends of the conveyer belt face the back wall. On the opposite wall is a row of garage doors, where the Time Ex trucks will pull in on the ass end, so they loaders can put them on the trucks. I work at the very end of the C. On the other end, there is another conveyer belt, but it's like a ramp. The boxes go up the ramp, and fall onto the conveyer belt below.

The packages are distributed according to what city they go to, starting with the closest address, Station Square. Different trucks go to different cities, and there are so many boxes that it is relatively easy to miss a package for your city. This is where I come in. I pick up these packages, code named reruns, and bring them back to the other side of the conveyer belt on a big fucking cart.

The biggest problem in my job is this prick named Davis... Yeah, the Station Square guy. He stands around with his hands tucked into his armpits, like a jackass, and lets most of his packages pass him by, and it's always the heaviest fucking packages, too. I'm still not sure if the guy is doing this shit on purpose or not. Maybe he just leaves them for me to run them back because they are so heavy, and I fucking hate this cocksucker for it.

I see the same goddamn packages over and over again, all fucking day! I can tell it's the same fucking package! It is the same weight, shape, and it has the same fucking address on it! Does this asshole just think I won't notice that I am doing the same heavy ass reruns over and over again?

Imagine this, if you will, for it is the best analogy that I have come up with. Imagine you have an assload of kids... Like maybe six or seven, right? You hate these wretched little bastards, and they have caused you nothing but pain through the duration of their existence. You take them to some shitty retail store, and just leave them in the parking lot, all the while you are praying some rapist or sick fuck kidnaps these little shits, not caring where they go or what happens to them, you just want them out of your life. Still following? Later, when you are at you're house, and you have almost forgotten about them, your doorbell rings. Every single one of those goddamn kids just show up at your door! Imagine trying this seven or eight times a day, and you might feel something like I do.

I have broken so many packages that sounded like they mattered. I'm pretty sure I have broken at least two computers, a very large package of what appeared to be CDs, and I can't even count the times I have heard glass shatter. I hate myself more and more with each box, counting away the seconds till my lunch break when I can go find a close by bar and get a couple of drinks. This is, of course, if I have the money. I usually don't. I wish I had a flask, but what good is a flask if I can't afford any alcohol to put in it, right? Right?

I get paid very weakly, I must say. I spend what I get on booze, and a little bit of food. I usually get extremely cheap vodka... did we go over this at some point? Fuck it, anyway, so I am supposed to be at work by six, and here it is six thirty, and I am sitting on a goddamn bench, next to a chubby pink hedgehog. That sickening pink fur bulging out of that horrible yellow dress.

I can't stop staring at her. She opens her purse and fishes out a candy bar. Ha! Like her chubby ass needs a candy bar. I look down at my own fat self, fatter than this woman, and I honestly can't help but wonder why...

I hate myself. I need a drink.

I ask the chubby lady what time it is again, and she tells me that it is six forty five. I ask her what time the bus usually gets here, and she tells me it will probably be around seven.

"FUCK!"

I drop my face into my palms, my hands being supported by my knees, elbows propped up on them... then I hear it...

"Sonic?"

My heart sinks. 

* * *

><p>I arrive back at my shitty apartment complex at around eight thirty in the morning, which is very early for me to arrive at home. I ignore the eviction notice as I open my apartment building door. I don't lock the door because I don't give a shit. I probably might if I had anything valuable in there.<p>

My apartment is the same as when I left it this morning - a mess. This gets gradually worse every day, but I lack the will to correct the problem. The floor is riddled with trash, so much that I can't see the tile in the kitchen. It isn't that I don't care, just why bother?

When you come through my front door, you are immediately in my kitchen. You take a right, and there is a bar, or kitchen counter, rather; running along about a yard and a half to my fridge, which is broken. I'm not even quite sure why I still have the useless device.

To the left is nothing but a wall, but if you go forward, you enter my living room. Adjacent to the doorway is the window, next to that, a blue armchair. For some odd reason, what little furniture and decoration I have is blue. Most of them were gifts. I guess people think I really like blue.

I used to have a T.V. but I couldn't afford cable, so it became useless. I used to have a lot of things that were nice. Shit, I used to have a big house, and an ass load of friends. What happened?

I grab the bottle of vodka I left on the counter earlier when suddenly the power goes off. Looks like I'm drinking in the dark, I suppose. I can still barely see an outline of everything, via the light barely emanating from the sides of the thick blankets I have acting as curtains, tacked about four times on each side.

I make my way over to the "curtains", trudging through bottles and napkins, hearing crunching noises under my feet of god-knows-what. I would also like to make a note to myself, to remember to wear shoes in the house at all times now, but I probably won't remember to.

I pull on the blankets, forcing the tacks out of the wall. Most of them fly out of the blanket as it falls to the floor, but some of them remain around the corners. I wonder to myself if this was a good idea, being that I may be unable to locate them later on. Maybe I acted hastily.

Well, I suppose it doesn't really matter now. I sit down, and place the bottle gently in my lap. The cap is still unscrewed so I just pull it off and drop it in to my lap, next to the bottle. Holding it with the other hand by the neck, I put the end of the bottle to my lips and turn the bottle upside down. As I do this I reflect back on this morning's events. 

* * *

><p>Maybe it's instinct or coincidence, but I can't really understand it. Out of nowhere on my walk to go to work, I just start thinking of Amy. I get on the bench to wait for my bus, and there she fucking is! I didn't even recognise her at first, her having gained much weight since our last encounter. This kind of puts a dent in her fuckability though.<p>

"Sonic?" She asked, unsure if it was really me.

I hadn't heard anyone say that name out loud in a very long time. I stare dumbly at her and it takes me a few seconds.

"Amy?" I didn't even need an answer, as she did her annoying squeal, and hugged the shit out of me. As soon as she did this, it hit me all at once. Suddenly I remembered how annoying this woman truly was, and might have a clue why our ties were severed. At the same time though, I also remembered how alone I was. I remembered how truly desperate I am, and I hugged her back.

We exchanged small talk, but I had to catch the bus shortly after, so it didn't get too personal. She did however write down her phone number and give it to me. If only I had a phone.

It was almost worth losing my job over. You see, while it was good to talk to Amy, it only happened because I missed my bus. This means I had to wait around an extra hour or so to catch the bus, making me show up at around seven thirty. I tried to clock in and pretend nothing had happened. Like it was no big deal. My manager approached me shortly after I walked through the door.

"Where the fuck have you been?" my manager curtly demanded

"Oh, sorry I'm late-" I was cut off.

"No. You're fired."

"I need this job!" I tried to explain.

"Get out."

That was the end of it. After that I went home. I didn't even get paid for the last couple of days. 

* * *

><p>I feel nauseous. It's early; maybe I should sleep awhile. I stumble into my bedroom, and plop down face first on the bed. Amy gets off later, maybe I could bum some change off some nice old lady and give her a call. This thought warms my heart, and I can feel myself smiling as I drift off to sleep. <p>

* * *

><p>SLAM!<p>

I wake up, startled. What the hell was that? It seems to be coming from my door. Another loud slam hits me like a ton of bricks, and I quickly snap out of my daze. It's been quite a while, as I have a hangover. How long have I been asleep? I look out the window to see the sun disappearing behind a blanket of clouds.

SLAM!

Apparently, he meant it that time, because the bolt lock tore through the thin layer of wood that was keeping it sealed. The door flies open, and the landlord steps in. I can only chuckle when I see the look on his face. Perhaps I'm not taking this situation seriously enough.

He looks as though he is startled to see me.

"Ain't you supposed to be at work?"

He has that silly accent, work coming out like woyk. I chuckle, and take a sip from the plastic bottle, still cradled in my arms.

"I got canned this morning"

"Is that so? Well, more the reason then. Mind telling me why you installed this new lock on my door without asking my permission, before I kick your ass out?"

I smirk at him. "To prevent you from doing exactly what you are doing at this moment." Another sip.

This pisses him off. "Get out. You have fifteen minutes to get the fuck out of my building before I call the police."

I start laughing. I shouldn't, but I do. I have lost everything, and my life can't get any worse at this moment, but I sit here, laughing insanely. He doesn't seem to like this. 

* * *

><p>I have my shoes, a pair of socks, half a bottle of cheap vodka, and my alarm clock. I also have my gloves. They use to be white, but now they are grey, covered in black smudges, and riddled with holes. I don't know where I am going anymore, just walking.<p>

Looking for a place to sleep, I suppose. It's dark out now, and it's grown cold. I don't want to call Amy now that I am homeless. Fuck that, I said. I couldn't just show up at her place, homeless and shitfaced, begging for a place to sleep after years upon years of no contact whatsoever. I simply could not do that. I'm not that desperate; no. I'll just sleep on a park bench or something.

Under my arm, I have something I didn't mention before. It isn't anything of value, or material value anyway. It's a picture to remind me of my old life. It's a picture of me, Amy (when she was fuckable, of course), Tails, Knuckles, and Big. I don't know what Big was doing there, or why this is the only picture I have left, but I have kept it in a frame for all these years.

I try tothink back on what happened to everyone. Tails died, and that is a no-brainer, because it was my fault. Knuckles went back to his island, as he always did. Big.. I don't know what the fuck happened to big. Never cared either, to tell the absolute truth.

I see some light reflecting off the walls of the buildings up ahead of me, the source buried behind a wall in an alleyway. I approach, seeking some sort of refuge, to see a bunch of homeless people standing around a barrel, filled with that is on fire. I can see the flames licking just over the top of the barrel.

People only seem to be crowded around the opposite side of the barrel, so I can see their faces via the trash fire light. The light flickers and pops, occasionally growing slightly. I approach, and stand there across from these strangers, not saying a word, and I'm suddenly accepted into the group.

I don't say a thing, and yet I am welcome into these strangers' home. I think they can sense where I am coming from, because each and every one of them has gone through the same thing at one point in their life. I think they can sense my transition, from the material world to absolute freedom.

How could this be freedom if it sucks so badly, you may be asking? I have nothing, and therefore can lose nothing. I place the alarm clock under my arm pit, making my hand free to grab the framed picture. I examine it for a long time, admiring what my life used to be. What I used to be.

Turn the picture over, release the back, and drop it to the ground. Take the picture out, and the frame drops as well, the sound of glass shattering only accompanied by the crackling of the fire. I stare at the picture, trying to relive the moment we took it, but to no avail. I can't even remember the purpose for the picture.

We're all just standing there looking happy. Even Knuckles looked happy, and Knuckles was never happy. Back before Eggman died… back when were happy. It's kind of funny, because through all of life we strove to take Eggman out of his place of power, just knowing that life would get so much better... but it didn't.

A tear drops onto the face of my picture, and I realize now that it's time to let go. Sonic isn't alive anymore, he died years ago, with Eggman. I drop the picture into the barrel, and watch it shrivel and blacken. My memories die with this picture.

My name is Maurice, and it's time to start life again. 

* * *

><p>It begins to drizzle at first, but everyone stood their ground. The drizzle turned into rain, and then the fire began to extinguish. This is when the homeless people dispersed. I didn't really see where they went, as my attention was diverted to the dying flames.<p>

Look up to see I'm alone. Entirely. Just great...

Time to find a place to sleep, I suppose. 

* * *

><p>Stumbling around in the darkness, take another sip from the bottle. The rains coming down hard now, and I'm soaked. I hold my hand over the mouth of the bottle, as not to fill it up with rain. I dropped the cap somewhere behind me, and I didn't care enough to look foir it.<p>

The last thing I remember, is falling over on the sidewalk. 

* * *

><p>Sonic…<p>

That name.

Sonic…

I dismiss it.

Sonic…

This is unusual.

Sonic…

That isn't my name anymore.

"SONIC!"

This is when I come to the realization that I am being shaken. Apparently someone wants my attention, and it sounds female. Open my eyes to see a blurry pink figure... no fucking way...

"What are ya doin' sleeping on the sidewalk?" The chubby pink hedgehog looks genuinely worried, and my heart melts.

Avoid the truth. Look at the bottle on the ground next to me. "Oh… I uh… must have passed out, on my way home, or something." She doesn't look convinced.

A sigh. "If you don't have a home, you can tell me. You don't need to be ashamed."

Frown, and avert my gaze. I can't bear to look her in the eye at this moment.

"Is it that obvious?"

"You never were a good liar. Get up."

I struggle to stand. Hung over, and still slightly drunk from last night, I manage to my feet with her help. Sound is amplified, and worsens my headache. I am only slightly taller than her, so my eyes meet her forehead. I look into her eyes, her bright green, beautiful eyes.

Here gaze meets mine, and I immediately look away, trying to play it off. I kneel, and start looking around on the ground, and she nudges me with her foot.

"What are you looking for?"

Bastards.

Someone ran off with my alarm clock. 

* * *

><p>Amy is leading me somewhere, but I'm not entirely sure what exactly is going on. She told me to follow her, so I did. It wasn't like I had anything better to do. She is leading me, her left hand wrapped securely around my right. I'm a few steps behind her, huffing. Having a bit of trouble keeping up with her pace.<p>

"Where are we going?"

She doesn't even turn to face me as she says this. She just keeps leading.

"To your new home"

"You're taking me to a shelter?"

She stops walking, and turns around. She is giggling, and I feel uneasy.

"No silly, we are going to my apartment."

She turns to keep walking, but I wrench my hand from hers.

"I can't live with you."

She turns to face me once more, but this time she isn't smiling, or laughing. She looks hurt, and I feel bad now. Why should I feel bad about not letting her take care of me?

"Why?"

"I just... Well... I don't want to impose-"

"Shut up. You'll get a job, and help pay the rent. That's that."

She grabs my hand and keeps dragging me, but this time I don't protest. I'll go to her apartment if she insists, I suppose. 

* * *

><p>She lives in a nice place. Well, nice for me, because I haven't even stepped foot in a place this nice in over a decade. She stops dragging me once we reach her doorstep. She unlocks the door, and cracks it. She turns around to face me, and backs through her doorway, beckoning me to follow. I start to slowly advance into her apartment, when she blocks me and shakes her head. I give her a confused look, and she smiles.<p>

"Leave that," She says, motioning towards the bottle in my hand, "at the door."

"But, I paid for th-"

She stops me in mid sentence, and pushes me against the wall opposite her door. Her body presses against mine, and her lips meet mine. Her tongue slowly invades my mouth. I can only manage to stand there, frozen in shock. She suddenly breaks our contact, and backs through her doorway. I drop the bottle, and follow her into her domain.

I need this. 

* * *

><p>Amy is the missing part of me. Amy is that link back to my past I was so desperately searching for. Amy completes me in every way. Her touch fufills me, and her kiss rejuvinates me. I find my self at my knees for this woman, willing to do anything to make her happy.<p>

I don't think I have ever felt this way about anything. Is this what you would call love? If so, I am in it.

I always liked sex better than getting drunk. Drinking comes from a lack of sex, but still, I can't help craving a drink. I was dependant on this drug for so many years, and I definately started to miss it immediately. It isn't even a question. I like sex more though. In fact, I like it a great deal more, but I can't have sex all the time. This is where my craving for alcohol comes from, I think.

Our conversation? Eh... Not so much... 

* * *

><p>"What happened?"<p>

This comes out of no where.

"What?"

"What happened to you?"

"When?"

"Don't play stupid."

"I'm not"

She starts giggling. I find myself extremely annoyed, but I don't say anything.

"All those years ago.. What happened to you? Why did you stop calling me? Why did you move away without saying any thing?"

Shit. Avoid the truth. Choose words carefully. I can already feel the turbulence, I just have to ride it out as best as I can.

"I was" Pause. Think about it. "I was upset about Tails. I didn't want to see anyone."

Not a lie, but not the whole truth. I just really wanted to get away from Amy. Now I am lying about it to stay with her. Funny how shit works out, no? She takes the bait. Now I need to reel her in. I could fuck this up easily.

"I needed time to reflect. By the time I went back you were already gone"

She eats it up like candy.

"Aww" She hugs me, and brings me in for a kiss.

Whew. Dodged that bullet. 

* * *

><p>We drank coffee, and smoked cigarettes together. It was very stran ge. Not only could I smoke, but she smoked more than I did. I couldn't brin g a drop of alcohol into the house though. I suppose it has nothing to do with health, just intoxication.<p>

She rolls me cigarettes with vanilla paper, and makes me coffee. She smiles at me, and even though she is chubby, she's beautiful in her own light. Like a classy kind of beautiful. I'm also desperate, did I mention that? At this time, any kind of mobian contact, or at least friendly mobian contact, is more meaningful to me than I think you could possibly imagine.

Or could you? 

* * *

><p>Our day ended with more sex, followed immediately after by sleep. Sleep didn't go over so well. You see, instead of my usual black out, I had a dream. I know that sounds like a good thing, but I really didn't like the dream I had.<p>

It was about Tails. You see, I wasn't lying at all when I said I was totally broken up about it, I just told Amy that was the reason I stopped contacting here. I'm actually not exactly sure when I stopped contacting her, I just grew so annoyed I began to loathe her.

She would leave messages over, and over, saying the same thing to me, just in a different way.

"I know you're sad, but we can get over this together."

"Sonic... It wasn't your fault. Call me"

"Sonic, please call me. I havn't talked to you in days."

"Look, you just have to grab life by the horns, okay?"

"Sonic, you don't have to hide from me"

"The sun is out today Sonic. You don't need to wait until tomorrow"

"Sonic? I'm standing out side. Open the door."

And so on, and so forth. Fuck that. I was at an emotional state, and I simply couldn't handle that shit anymore. The more she called, the more I didn't want to answer. The closer she got, the harder I pushed. Eventually I just split. Packed the necessities, then bailed without saying a word.

Why stick around when your only friend annoys the shit out of you? Perhaps it wasn't the best, or nicest thing I could have done, but I was drunk, so all is forgiven. She came in, just at the right time in my life to pick me up, and help me back on my feet.

Support of some kind, that's all I needed. My angel in pink, just popped out of nowhere, and saved the day. I was oncer hero, and now she is mine. Funny how things like this work out. Irony runs rampant throughout my life.

Oh. You wanted to hear about the dream? 

* * *

><p>Everything was set to go, Eggman was in his factory, and I had snuck in<br>totally undetected. I had placed a time bomb, and stealthily retreated  
>outside to watch, and make sure it happened. Check my watch. Two minutes.<br>Watch intently at the door, making sure no one goes in or out.

Sigh, and wish silently to myself for a cigarette. This is going to be the  
>longest two minutes of my life, and I can only sit here, and hope to god<br>that things go right. My mind wanders, and I start to think about Amy's  
>tits. That is of course, when she had good tits, and a nice physique.<p>

Check my watch again. Thank god, only thirty seconds left. I'm pretty far  
>from the building, nestled in an old unused factory, in the second story in<br>front of a window. I have a pretty nice view from here, and with binoculars,  
>I can see the doorway perfectly. Set the binoculars in my lap, and rub my<br>eyes.

Something catches my eye, and I snatch the binoculars, and raise them back  
>into place with lightning fast speeds. Noticed all too late that Tails was<br>being escorted by a SWATbot towards the building. They didn't even make it  
>all the way to the door before the building blew up in their faces,<br>obliterating both of them completely.

You may be asking how I know this for sure. Well, I suppose I could tell  
>you. I spent the next eight hours searching the wreckage, and I didn't find<br>a damn thing. Not Eggman, not Tails, not one single body. That bomb sure as  
>shit had some "oomph" to it. <p>

* * *

><p>To help you understand how badly this mentally fucked with me, perhaps I<br>should explain a little history. Maybe some background will get the emotions  
>flowing.<p>

Tails didn't have any family. Let me rephrase that. Tails didn't have a  
>family, anymore. His parents were killed or something, I'm not entirely<br>sure. I found him in the ruins of a village. He was sitting on his porch  
>when I first saw him. He caught wind of me, somehow.<p>

I think he heard us, because he didn't even look. I think he was still a bit  
>shaken up about what ever had happened. He jumped up, and flipped a bitch,<br>running into the house, and slamming the door behind him. I approached the  
>door, and tried to open it. Unsurprisingly, it's locked.<p>

Take a step back, and look at the house. Perhaps there is a back door, I  
>thought to myself. Sure enough there was. Also sure enough, the kid had<br>forgotten about it. It made me wonder whether he lived here or not. Finding  
>him was easy enough, as it was a small house, and the kid couldn't hide for<br>shit. This made me wonder how he had not only survived an attack from  
>Eggman, but he was also the only one.<p>

Turns out he was hiding under his bed. I get on all fours to peer into the  
>darkness, and I can see him curled up into a ball. One particular thing<br>catches my eye. Let me rephrase that. Two particular things catch my eye.  
>The fox is facing away from me, and he has two tails. Believe it or not,<br>that is where the name came from. 

* * *

><p>Talking him out wasn't really hard at all. Neither was getting him to follow<br>me. Shit, Eggman himself could have talked him into walking right into a  
>dungeon if he did it with a nice tone. The kid was gullible, and stupid.<br>Well, naive I suppose you would say. Still though, I was fond of him.

I've never been good with kids, in fact I hate kids, but me and Tails  
>connected somehow. He became like a little brother to me. He looked up to me<br>a great deal, too. I could never understand why, though. I was never  
>anything great. I was actually always kind of an ass looking back on it.<p>

The only real thing I had going for me was my speed. That was it, really. So  
>many people just obsessed over me, and I can't really figure it out. I was a<br>celebrity, and the only reason I could think of was my speed. Whatever it  
>was, they sure know how to elevate someone just right for the fall to break<br>every bone in your body, but leave you alive, and breathing. 

* * *

><p>The worst part was the fact that all of this was my fault. His death could<br>have been avoided entirely. He begged to go with me on the mission, so I  
>told him to be the lookout. I picked the most secluded place I could find,<br>and I told him it was imperative that he sit there, and guard that place.

I told him it was the most important job. Lies; and all to make him think he  
>was doing something important. He believed me, and he seemed so excited<br>about his position. It wasn't bad intentioned in the least; I just wanted  
>him to be happy. I should have made him stay at home. I shouldn't have even<br>put on the stupid charade.

The ditch near the edge of a forest, right next to a fallen tree. This is  
>where I told him to stay, and I was so sure he'd be totally fine. My guess<br>is he sat there, until picked up by the SWATbot.

What the hell was I thinking? What the fuck is wrong with me? 

* * *

><p>Snap awake as soon as the explosion happens. Struggle trying to rip the<br>covers off me, and fall to the hard wood floor. I'm shaking uncontrollably.  
>I need a drink. I absolutely fucking need one. I can't hack it anymore, I<br>need something. Scramble to my feet, and shuffle towards the bathroom.

"Sonic?"

I hear the tired voice behind me as I shut the door. Look frantically around  
>me, until I spot the large bottle of mouth wash on the sink. Grab it, and<br>fumble with the bullshit cap. Throw it to the ground, and start to chug.

I don't make it halfway through the bottle before I start gagging, and drop  
>it to the floor, spilling blue liquid everywhere. I kneel before the<br>porcelain throne, and puke onto the toilet seat. This is when I hear the  
>door opening behind me.<p>

Turn my head to see Amy standing there in her panties. The expression on her  
>face is a mixture between anger and confusion, and at this moment, I'm<br>positive that I am fucked. Try to smile weakly at her, but her expression  
>doesn't alter.<p>

Fuck.

Back to square one, I suppose.

* * *

><p>It was Saturday. I remember this because I didn't have to work until after noon. I'm a nurse at the local hospital in Station Square, and it's fair to say I make adequate salary. I live comfortably, but it isn't really all that great. I want someone to share my life with. I'm so lonely these days. I have a few friends at the hospital, but no one I can really hang out with.<p>

Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitter or unsatisfied with my life entirely. No, no, no; far from it. I'm very happy with the opportunities I have been given. I just get bored. Extremely bored.

Meeting guys is hard, as I'm not exactly the best looking woman in Station Square. In fact, to be completely honest, I think of myself as ugly. I don't like the way I look at all. When I see myself in the mirror, I see a chubby old hedgehog. I don't see the beautiful pink woman I was all those years ago. I started to gain weight soon after Sonic just packed up and left our village.

I decided I should go somewhere. Sitting cooped up in my apartment isn't fun in the least. There's television, but it's really starting to feel like I'm getting progressively dumber while watching. I wasn't sure where I was going, and I'm not even sure why I bothered to leave that day, but I did. Be sure to grab a pack of cigarettes, and my lighter on my way out the door. 

* * *

><p>It's kind of chilly, and I find myself wishing I would have brought my jacket. Reach into the purse hanging limply from my left shoulder, and fish out a cigarette, and the lighter. Try to ignite the lighter, but the wind keeps extinguishing the flame. Cup my hand around the flame, and I manage to light the end of the stick, and inhale quickly, as I flip the top back down, extinguishing the flame.<p>

Smoking is a dirty habit, and one I feel the need to quit. My lungs hurt, and there's also the cold hard truth of being extremely out of shape. Cancer also scares me, but it's hard to quit. I try to quit cold turkey all the time, but it never lasts more than a few days. I'm not quite sure when this habit was picked up, or even why.

Cigarette between my right index and middle finger, the end of the filter resting gently on my right elbow. My hands rub my arms, to try to generate some kind of warmth, but it never makes too big a difference. For whatever reason, my thought's drift to Sonic. I haven't thought of him in years.

I suddenly start to wonder about what his life is like today. He used to be a celebrity, but you never hear of him these days. In fact, I hadn't heard any news on him since before he disappeared. I wonder what he looks like today, and I even find myself hoping his life is happy.

Starting to fatigue from all of the walking, I find a bench, and nestle myself gently into it, next to a total stranger. Examine my painted purple fingernails only to notice the polish is already chipping. Wonder to myself where to go from here, but can't imagine where to go. I don't even know why I left this morning.

The stranger next to me wants to know the time, so I look at my watch.

"Six thirty."

Perhaps I'll sit here a while, maybe even catch the bus at this stop. Open my purse, and dig out a candy bar. Pull back the wrapper, and bite into the chocolaty goodness. After I finish, I stuff the wrapper back into my purse, and the stranger asks me what time it is again. Look down at the digital watch that Sonic gave me all those years ago. He comes to mind again.

"Six forty five"

Pull a napkin out of my purse, and start to wipe my mouth.

"FUCK!"

This startles me, and for the first time I look over at this stranger I have been sitting next to. It's a blue hedgehog in a dirty brown jacket, with his face buried in his hands. I would have dismissed this entirely, had not I noticed the sneakers.

Is that..?

No way.

Couldn't hurt to try.

"Sonic?"

His ears perk up, and he lifts his head from his hands. He looks at me with disbelief.

"Amy?"

I squeal, which can't be helped, and throw my arms around him. Imagine that! Thinking about him after all these years, and I've been sitting right here next to him! He has changed so much during the years, I can hardly recognise him.

"How have you been?"

"Me? Oh, I've been great." He doesn't say this with much conviction.

"Let's not talk about me. I want to hear about you. What have you been doing all these years?"

I tell him how I became a nurse, and how I moved to Station Square. I asked him what he was doing for a living.

"Me? Oh, I'm a successful CEO broker over at Time Ex."

What in the heck is a CEO broker? I didn't ask because I didn't want to look stupid in front of him. Plus, time was short, his bus would be arriving soon, and we could get into details later.

"Gosh, I was just thinking about you this morning. What's your phone number?"

I start to dig out a pen and a napkin when he starts talking.

"Oh, uh... that won't work. How about you give me yours?"

It kind of feels like he's hiding something from me. Scribble my number onto the napkin, and hold it out for him to grab. I hope he calls me. I really hope he calls me. His bus arrives, and we part ways. I think of what to do now. For a second, I try to recall why I came out today, but I dismissed it. Sonic already answered that question. 

* * *

><p>Work was kind of a drag. Sonic was on my mind, and it wasn't possible to put my full attention into anything else. It was uneventful though, and that's always good. When I got home, I sat by the phone all night. I would glance over at it every five, or ten minutes, but it never rang.<p>

I guess he was busy. 

* * *

><p>Woke up the next morning at around eight. Had to work at around nine, giving me an hour to get dressed, and get there. I ate quickly, having leftovers from a few days ago. Not sure exactly when I got takeout, but it wasn't bad.<p>

Set out on the usual route today, and you wouldn't believe who I found passed out on the sidewalk. Sonic was asleep, with a bottle of vodka on the ground next to him. I felt so bad for him, he looked so pathetic. Still kinda cute, too.

Screaming his name wouldn't work, he just started to grumble under his breath. He didn't wake up until I started to shake him. He woke up, and began rubbing his eyes. He looked around before he noticed me standing there, looking down at him.

I ask him what he is doing sleeping on the sidewalk; and he tries to tell me he passed out on the way home. He's such a bad liar. Why wouldn't he tell me he didn't have a place to live? Pride, I suppose. I tell him it's okay. He doesn't need to be ashamed. Now he doesn't want to look at me. Avoiding eye contact.

Help him to his feet, and he kneels down to look for something. Poke my foot into his side.

"What are you looking for?"

"Oh... Nothing, I guess." 

* * *

><p>I grab his hand, and tell him to follow me. This is when the decision to stay home today comes to light. I think getting away with one absence is very possible. I don't tell him where we are going, at least not at first. I don't want to hurt his pride.<p>

"Where are you taking me?"

I tell him we are going home. His new home. He thinks I'm taking him to a shelter, and I can't help but laugh. I correct him, and inform him his new home is with me. At my apartment. As I expected he had issues with this. Turn around to keep walking, but his hand leaves mine.

"I can't live with you."

"Why?"

He starts to give me some silly reason, and I shush him. Tell him he could really help me out with rent, once he gets a job. I insist. 

* * *

><p>We arrive at my apartment shortly, and I slide the key into the lock, and crack the door. Turn around to see him standing there, with his bottle of vodka in his hands. I motion for him to come here, but block him at the door. I tell him to leave the alcohol at the door. It isn't that I hate alcohol entirely; I just want him to get back on his feet before drinking again.<p>

He tries to feed me an excuse, but I cut him off with a kiss, trying to make my offer as appetizing as I possible can. I need this. It's been so long since I have had any sexual contact, and with Sonic there won't be any awkward, "getting to know you, and make sure you aren't a psycho" phase.

Back into the apartment, and leave the question for Sonic to answer. He takes the bait.

Thank god. 

* * *

><p>Called in sick, pinching my nostrils shut to try to replicate a cold. Noting how bad I sounded, to my amazement it worked. I will spare you of the details of what happened for the next hour, but needless to say I had the best day I have experienced in a long time.<p>

Sonic shares my vices. Caffeine, and cigarettes, and though it's unhealthy, it's better to have someone to share it with. For the first time in a very long time, the hole has been filled. I feel full. I feel content. We spend the rest of the day, sharing our life, sharing our bad habits, and sharing our bodies.

It was the best day of my entire life. It wasn't until around two thirty the next morning that the shit hit the fan. 

* * *

><p>He wakes up next to me, grunting. I'm not sure if it's the movement that wakes me, or the sound. He gets tangled up in the sheet, and falls to the floor. He disappears over the side, then immediately followed by a loud thud against the hard wood floor. I try my best not to laugh, but I let a chuckle out. I don't think he hears me though. Sonic gets up, and races for the bathroom.<p>

"Sonic?"

He ignores me, shutting the door behind him. Get up, and walk toward the door, and I can hear coughing, and sputtering from behind the door, followed by a choking, and gagging sound. I got so scared; I thought he was dying, or something.

I opened the door to see him kneeling before the toilet. The floor is covered in mouthwash, and vomit. He tried to puke in the toilet, but forgot to put the seat up. I could feel the anger, welling up inside my body. What does he think I am? Stupid?

Did he think that the mouth wash would just go completely unnoticed? He tries to give me a weak smile, but that isn't going to work. As much as I hated to do it, I kicked him out. I told him to go to rehab, to get some help, but he wasn't really listening.

What hurt me the most was the fact that he didn't even try to talk to me. He just picked up, and left without saying a word. I spent the rest of the morning crying by myself.

I shouldn't have kicked him out. I regret it already. I hope he's okay. 

* * *

><p>Not much was said. I simply grabbed all my things, which was very little, and left. I understood, so I wasn't bitter. I didn't try to explain myself, I just left. The bottle of vodka was gone, and I have to admit I was somewhat disappointed by this. I kinda expected it to still be there.<p>

Walking down that hallway, sober, and hating myself, I wondered what was next for me. What could I possibly do now? How could I pick my life up from here? They say once you have hit rock bottom the only place to go is up, but my legs are broken, and ascending the ladder is impossible without them. When I get to the stairs, I decide to go up, instead of down. 

* * *

><p>The apartment building isn't very tall, but I'm sure it's enough to get the job done. Three stories tall, and I stand here on the roof, facing my destiny. Approaching the edge, I refuse to look down. If I look down, I might get scared, and quit, but I must go through with this.<p>

It must be done. I must rid the world of my uselessness in one swoop. I only feel sorry for the man that has to clean me up. Close my eyes, and step up to the ledge. I can feel the wind gently trying to sway me back, but coaxing me won't do any good. My mind is made up.

Take a deep breath. It's okay, I reassure myself. It won't hurt too badly, and even if it does, it won't last very long. Death will be instantaneous, and my cares will all melt away. Consumed by darkness, and peace, I will be born again in a sense.

Will myself forward, and gravity takes its toll. Free fall forward, and fight back the urge to scream. Life will be over soon, and I can forget all of this. The built up anxiety of the impact is far worse than the actual things. I'm expecting too much. Just let go. Be passive, except my fate.

I only open my eyes a moment too late, to come to the realization that I jumped off just over a dumpster.

* * *

><p>The impact hurt immensely, but I didn't break anything. The worst part about it, was being alive, and covered in rank garbage. I lay there for a while, trying to regain my breath. Everything hurts, and the stink is worse than you can imagine. Finally manage to start struggling through the old food to the side of the dumpster.<p>

Slide the square door open in the side, and manage to swim, and squirm my way out. I get about halfway through, and my body weight, and gravity does the rest, pulling me to the cold hard cement. Cough, and struggle to my knees. The smell gags me, and if I had eaten anything earlier today I'm sure I would have puked.

I'm such a fuck up, I can't even kill myself. 

* * *

><p>As I sit here, in this dark alleyway by my lonesome, I can only reflect on everything that has happened. I really think about these things, for the first time with a completely clear head. I've spent the last fifteen years drunk, and now that I really think about it, it all seems so very silly.<p>

I was upset about not being famous anymore, wallowing in my own self pity, and whining to myself about my sad state of affairs. Blaming myself for the loss of my friends, but blaming or crying won't bring them back. Neither will snuffing it.

I start to laugh, seeing the humor in life almost for the first time again. It doesn't matter. None of this matters. I'm sitting here in a dark alleyway, stinking like garbage, with no friends, no money, and no job, and it really isn't that big of a deal.

I can move on. I can pick myself back up. Fuck my legs; I can drag myself up the ladder with my arms. I don't need a shoulder to lean on or cry in, all I need is a will to keep going. It's like that silly little train said, "I think I can!" 

* * *

><p>All I needed was a dollar, which was given to me by some old woman. I almost felt bad about taking it, but I needed it, so there you go. First, I need to find a Laundromat, and possibly a shower. After that, I need to find a job, and a homeless shelter. I can live in the shelter, until I get enough money for a new place.<p>

It all makes sense once you have a plan. It's actually quite exhilarating, in fact. I feel like I have a purpose again, to get my life back on track. This was just the kick in the nuts I needed. It's time to stop talking, and start doing, as stupid as that sounds. I mighte even call Amy. 

* * *

><p>It doesn't take much running to fatigue me, and I don't have to be running very fast either. Fifteen years of drinking, and smoking has made itself apparent, as I run from place to place. I don't have anywhere to go yet, but it feels good to run again.<p>

It feels good for about fifteen minutes, that is, then it feels like my lungs are on fire, and the possibility of passing out presents itself. I have to rest for about half of an hour in between each fifteen minute session. With a little luck, I might start to get in shape within the year. 

* * *

><p>My plan worked out nicely, or at least as nicely as it could have gone. You would be surprised how much further a cleaner, more sober presence can go for you. I got a job at a gas station. I don't sit behind the counter; no, I'm not that lucky. To tell the truth, I didn't even know gas stations hired attendants anymore.<p>

I can say without a doubt, that this is the worst job I have ever done, but I guess you have to start somewhere. I'm not as much optimistic at this point as just simply content. The glass isn't half empty, or half full. The glass still has some shit in it, so just enjoy what you can.

Work still sucks, and I don't have a home yet. A frail old woman, in an old golden car parks at the closest pump to me, and I jog over to the car. She asks me to put gas in her car, and wash her windows, and I oblige kindly. Remove the gas cap, and set it on the car, inserting the pump, and turning it on. I lock it in place, and grab the squeegee out of its cradle, and begin to wash her windows.

About halfway through she approaches, and yelps when she sees the meter on the pump, quickly removing the pump, spilling gas everywhere, and turning off the lock. She flips the pump switch down, and replaces the pump.

"I only wanted five dollars."

Glance at the meter. Twenty three dollars, and ninety four cents.

Fuck.

Life goes on, I guess.


End file.
